Viva la Vida
by Cakenbakin
Summary: Morgana has won. Camelot is throne into turmoil. The King is down and Merlin can do nothing to stop his dark spiral... Based loosely on the song. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Viva la Vida

Arthur closed his eyes against the sun that drifted in through the high widows of Lady Vivienne's guest chambers. She had been so kind as to house the wayward king, though others did not trust her and preferred instead to stay hidden in their secret forest camp.

He knew he was a little too drunk, but he made Merlin bring him a flagon of ale every time the last one emptied. His servant looked upon him with concern; his last real friend, though there was an undercurrent of something he could never really place. An old man trapped in that gawky teenager's body.

Gwen had married him, but he barely saw her. She took to sulking when he got into these now familiar moods and avoided him. He was like his father; weak and stupid. He could have stopped Morgana, but now, since she declared herself Empress of Camelot and the Realm, it seemed that she would not stop until all Albion bowed at her feet.

"Sire?" Merlin said, startling his young king, "It will get better, I promise." Arthur turned slowly to face his companion.

"Better?" Arthur scoffed, "You can say that—you are well fed, taken care of; no one cares what you do or say, but I have put my people to death! _My_ people," Arthur said in a broken undertone. Merlin looked wounded and opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it when he noticed the fourth empty flagon. "Morgana lines them up as we speak! They think I will ride in to save them without an army, outnumbered and without Ellian or Gwaine. You know as well as I do that the siege on Camelot FAILED. Get me more ale," Arthur said the last part in a near whisper, turning away from Merlin and out into the darkening courtyard.

"Father," Arthur whispered into the darkness, "Help me, please. Do something."

Silence.

Merlin brought in more ale, and Arthur took it from him, forcing a burning behind his eyes away. He took a long draught from the tankard, not even bothering to put in a cup, and noticed Merlin still standing there, looking wary.

"Have some then," Arthur slurred, mistaking the sympathetic look Merlin gave the amber liquid.

"No, I'm fine," Merlin shook his head.

"Have some." Arthur's eyes were cold. Not a challenge. An order.

Merlin came reluctantly over, and poured himself a small measure into a nearby goblet.

"Sit down," Arthur said. Merlin sat. "Why have you stayed? You should have buggered off years ago." Merlin was silent. Arthur repeated his query. When Merlin still did not answer, Arthur stood up and before Merlin could react, he had his dagger to his servant's throat.

"It was you, wasn't it? You all along; the one who betrayed me."

"No," Merlin gulped, fear in his eyes, "Morgana betrayed you, not me." Arthur considered him for a moment, then pressed the knife harder to Merlin's throat, drawing out a thin line of blood across his fair neck. "Please, Arthur, I would never do that." Arthur would not back down. Pressing still harder he said,

"Don't you think I saw the way you looked at her? She was better than you, but it didn't stop you from fantasizing about her, did it? You would have gone to the ends of the earth for her." Merlin gasped and the door opened.

Gwen looked horrified when she saw the scene before her, and Arthur dropped the knife, casting his eyes to the floor. He rubbed his neck and moved to the window, turning his back on Merlin and his wife.

"Arthur!" she cried, "What were you doing? You could have killed him!"

"Its fine, Gwen," Merlin muttered, "He's drunk again." A look of understanding flashed over Gwen's face and Arthur turned around, furious.

"Drunk? I am not drunk, you little bastard! Where do you get off talking like that? Are you suddenly at our level, peasant?" Arthur said it with venom, and Merlin, after giving one hard look at his master, strode out of the room past Gwen. When their eyes met Gwen pursed her lips.

"Is this how a king acts?" She demanded, coming in and closing the door behind her, "Do you think he deserved that? I thought I married a king, not a spoiled schoolboy." Arthur's nostrils flared and he moved to her with heavy steps. She backed away when she saw him coming, and flinched when he took her shoulders with rough hands. Some part of him was wounded at her fear of him; he would never hit her.

"Gwen," he said, ale heavy on his breath, "You should leave. Go with Merlin and swear fealty to Morgana. It would be easier for you." Gwen looked back defiantly.

"What would I do then?" she demanded, "with my _husband_, the _king_, left here to rot? I would never allow it." She closed her eyes and opened them, tears glistening on her long dark lashes. "Please, come back to me, I need you." It was the pleading sound in her voice that made Arthur take her in his arms and hold her like he would fall through nothingness if he did not. She was his, and he loved her, but she was being stupid. If she stayed with him what would she get? Nothing, and he would never bring a child into the world without an assurance it would be safe. She would not even get the baby he knew she wanted.

"You have to go," Arthur insisted, still holding her huddled to his chest. "I should never have gotten between you and Lancelot."

"I never loved him," she replied, looking up and catching his eye. "I regret everyday that you saw that."

"But I did," Arthur replied back miserably. He let her go and went to the half empty flagon of beer. Gwen looked at once concerned, but with one motion he sent to tumbling to the ground, the fine crystal decanter smashing into glittering fragments on the floor. When he saw Gwen staring in horror, he said in a nonchalant voice, "Merlin will get that."

Gwen's eyes grew hard once more. "He cares for you. Don't treat him like that or you will not have him."

"I'll _always_ have him," Arthur replied, "he never shuts up about _that_. He still thinks I will be the Great King of Albion and that he must protect me."

"You will be," Gwen said.

There was a great crash and Arthur felt something smash into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He heard a sickeningly familiar voice.

"I found you, dear brother."

**AN: needed to get this one out. Violence, lemons, drugs, you name it. Read and review. Gotta know what the thoughts are. More scary, sulky Arthur? In my version Morgana won and didn't get revived by that stupid little dragon and the knights in Camelot dungeon didn't escape. …. R&R!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I love you guys! 7 favorite story/ story alert subscriptions since midnight! Side note: Proofreading, I should learn how to do it. XD I was going over the story and saw that there was a 'widow' not 'window' Arthur was looking out of. Oops. Anywho, enjoy and drop me a line. R&R! PS. This chapter sounds epic when you read it to Andare by Ludovico Einaudi. Just saying…**

Morgana sneered down at her half brother, eyes glittering with cold hatred.

"Look at you, dear brother," she said mockingly, "wasted away to nothingness. Does my success scare you? Or is it this?" with a flick of her wrist and an amber glint in her blue eyes Arthur was clutching his head which felt as if it had been set ablaze, but instead of fire that burned him it was memories; painful memories that he had done his best to suppress. He felt like his skin would peel and his eyes would melt, and the pain only increased until he was near screaming, roiling on the floor.

Something sounded in what felt like a vast, empty distance and the pain stopped abruptly. Arthur collapsed further, breathing hard. When he took his hands away from his head, he found them to be slick with blood.

"Merlin," he heard Morgana say, "how nice of you to join us."

"Stop this Morgana," Merlin replied in a cold, unfamiliar voice, "how many must you slaughter until you are satisfied?"

"As many as it takes to get to _him_," Morgana gestured to Arthur, sweating and bleeding on the ground.

"You can't have him," Merlin said, moving past Morgana as if he had nothing to fear; as if he was ready to die. Arthur looked at him through a haze, but when he tried to warn him, he found his voice came out less than a whimper. _No Merlin_, Arthur screamed in his head, don't _do this, she'll kill you!_

"He's your pet," Morgana sneered, "and when you die it will be for an unjust king. Your sentiment is touching, really, but misplaced." She lifted her arm to strike and Merlin shot one sad, desperate glance at Arthur. His eyes flashed gold and Arthur faded into blackness.

…

Morgana had not seen Merlin, but she looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"It feels like magic in here," she observed, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

"Give up Morgana," Merlin insisted, "Emrys will kill you if you don't."

A stricken look crossed Morgana's face and her eyes grew wide with fear.

"How do you know that name?" She demanded.

"The Druids," Merlin lied, "It was he who killed Agravaine and he will kill you too if this bloodbath is to continue."

"You sound like you are on personal terms with him," Morgana said slyly, coming a little closer to Merlin, away from the door.

"l know of him," Merlin replied guardedly. Morgana sent a bolt of rippling black energy at Merlin and Merlin was forced to endure the twisting agony that ripped through his veins and sent his heart into a rapid cycle, desperately trying to keep him alive.

"Servants have no place in the house of kings and palaces of magic," she said cruelly, "You know that Arthur is only using you like he does everyone," she continued, "you are a fool to be blind to it."

"No," Merlin said, staggering to his feet though his heart beat wildly against his ribs, "it is you who uses people."

Morgana gave him a venomous glare.

"You know what your problem is?" Merlin said, a new, deeper anger rising like bile in his throat, "intelligence. You are not smart enough to know how to succeed." Morgana's lips curled and she barred her teeth.

Merlin saw her eyes before he heard her, and dodged a jet of white hot light. He pulled himself behind one of the great stone support pillars and waited. Morgana's taunting voice followed him.

"Running scared? Not so brave after all, are you?"

"Morgana," Merlin tried one last time, "Please, this isn't you. This is Morgause."

The pillar he sought refuge behind shattered and the ceiling collapsed over Merlin.

"Don't. You. Ever. Say. Her. Name. On. Your. Filthy. Lips. You do not even deserve to know it."

Merlin struggled under a thick rafter beam and shot a fearful glance at where Arthur lay, still unconscious by saved from falling debris. He spied Gwen beyond that, her eyes closed and breathing shallowly, and wondered how badly she was hurt. Even through the plaster dust and broken wood he saw that she had a dark patch of blood under her back, dark and speckled with dirt.

He wished he could call Kilgharrah, but knew it would not help. There was only one thing to do, and Merlin gulped down his fear and regret.

He shouted a spell he found in an old forbidden book.

The room burst into dazzling red-blue flame and he rushed to Arthur's side. Morgana shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted to see him rush across the room.

Their eyes met, and Merlin saw shock. Simple shock.

"You," she hissed. Merlin did not think. His eyes flashed gold and she parried his blow. She sent back one of her own and he blocked it easily. They began an unsteady, lethal dance, and Merlin, after a few missed spells, finally saw her weak spot. He struck and she crumpled to the floor. She was not dead, but it gave Merlin time to drag Arthur and Gwen to the safety of the corridor.

A small group of guards was already at the doors, and he moved away from them in the opposite way, towards the gateway that led to the forest. He tried elbowing past one of the guards, but the man, a large imposing figure, grabbed him and caused his eyes to water. He needed to get away, but he would not use magic. He kicked the guard with all his strength and tried to struggle away, but the man held fast.

Soon two other guards had him by the arms and were trying to hold him still. He thrashed and shouted, but no one seemed to hear or care what he said. He heard someone yell "King Killer!" from close by and someone else spat in his face.

Merlin was desperate so he fought harder, but when a guard broke his ribs with the butt of a sword, he collapsed and hissed a short breath.

"Let me go!" he wheezed, "I'm—I'm Arthur's servant! Please! Get Morgana!" He was kneed in the small of his back and he almost fell to the ground. He felt blood seeping in an itchy line down his stomach and his chest felt compressed and bruised.

He was led away by two guards, blood leaving a trail on the ground as they moved him farther away from Arthur and Gwen. Before he was out of sight he cried out once, a high animal sound like keening.

"Arthur!" he shouted, "Please, Arthur, wake up!"

**AN: More, but I need some feedback? Good Merlin? Bad Merlin? Should Arthur remember the flash of gold? What will be his fate? R&R!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Arthur, Arthur please wake up," A weak voice said, a distant, disembodied sound, somehow muffled. "Please, you have to wake up." The voice began to sob and Arthur felt cool tears drop on his cheeks and neck.

Arthur stirred and he felt a hand fly to his forehead. Gold blazed like fire behind his eyelids and when he opened his eyes it faded and he saw Gwen. She caught his eye and kissed his forehead, her eyes puffy and damp.

"Gwen," he whispered hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse.

"It's me," she murmured back. She took his face in her hands and suddenly a rush of memories flooded his mind, muddling his thoughts.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, watching her expression carefully.

"Oh yes, my love," she replied, no longer meeting his eyes, "I just have a few minor scratches. The scars will not be bad and I am grateful for the doctors. They were the ones who stitched me up." There was a false note in her reassurance, and Arthur knew when she lied. "You were hurt worse, she continued, her voice coming out muffled, "When Morgana attacked you were caught by a falling beam and you broke a couple of fingers on your left hand. Also, the doctors think your eardrum on the right burst, that's why there was so much blood." At the mention of his hand, Arthur lifted it and saw it to be thickly bandaged and stiff with gauze. He was silent for a moment.

"And what of Merlin?" He asked, "Did he find us afterwards?" He had forgotten everything since the fall, and peered at Gwen with that amusement he always awarded his servant in conversation.

"You don't remember," Gwen said, "He was in the room when Morgana came for you. He saved us, Arthur, when he pulled us from the fire, but he tried to run so they threw him in the keep. No one knew how hurt he was…" her voice cracked and she trailed off, chest heaving and tears forming in her dark eyes.

"What happened?" Arthur said, panic rising like bile in his throat.

"Arthur he…" Gwen gulped and pursed her lips, trying to regain her composure. "Arthur… he…" She broke down again and clutched his uninjured hand tightly in both of hers. "…And Morgana escaped again."

Arthur could not understand her, and he stared at her like a child, fearing, but not knowing why. Merlin always escaped somehow, this time should not have been an exception.

"He's dead," Gwen said bluntly, wiping her eyes. "They said his death was just, and when he succumbed to his injuries it saved him a long wait and a short drop. They said a traitor… a traitor needed to die slowly and in anguish." She had stopped crying, and Arthur wiped away the tears that still clung to her cheeks, uncomprehending.

"Shh," he said, cooing to her, "Merlin will be back with some water soon. You will be alright."

Gwen gave him a shocked look and pulled away.

"Arthur," she said almost pityingly now, "Darling, he's gone."

"He's not," Arthur argued, "He promised he would stay. If he's gone somewhere I want him found and brought back. He cannot just leave like this without a goodbye." Gwen began to cry again and Arthur grew annoyed. "Don't weep for him; he'll be back in no time. My men are swift."

"Oh Arthur," she sobbed, "Oh Arthur…" Arthur, feeling the need to comfort her, took her stiffly into his arms and stroked her hair as tears stained his tunic.

They stayed like that for a long while until her sobs quieted and he heard the light, gentle breathing of Gwen, her heart beating evenly against him.

He could not believe what she said about Merlin, and again the gold washed over his vision, but when he tried to shake it off, he saw instead two deep golden eyes, oddly familiar eyes, staring back at him with fear and regret.

He fell asleep with Gwen on his chest, pain beginning to make his fingers throb and his head feel bruised and shoulders cut.

When he awoke Gwen was gone, and the court physician, a young man named Aaron stood over him, bleeding him.

"Is that necessary?" Arthur asked, again feeling that strange one-sided hearing.

"Yes, My Lord," Aaron said, "You must be bled to heal."

"Physician," Arthur tried, hoping that Gwen had only been playing a cruel trick, "what of my manservant, Merlin Ealdor?" It was custom in this part of the Kingdom to call a man by his Christian name and his birthplace.

"I examined him," Aaron said carefully, eyes on the growing pool of blood in his dish, "He was badly hurt."

"What happened?" Arthur asked.

"He had broken his ribs on one side and one had punctured his lung. It collapsed in the Keep."

"So you got to him then?" Arthur demanded, hope rising in his chest.

The physician removed the metal straw and set the bloody tube and basin out of the way. He wiped his hands on his robes and shook his head.

"I am afraid not, Lord King, but is in not better he died? He would have faced the fire or the noose had he survived."

"Why?" Arthur asked, "He saved us, not doomed us."

"He tried to escape. His part in the plot is almost confirmed."

"Merlin was scared!" Arthur cried, exasperated, "He was escaping Morgana! For Christ's sake, he was only a boy."

"Not younger than our Boy King," Aaron replied. "Begging your pardon My Lord, but I have much yet to do. May I be excused?" Arthur nodded dumbly and was left, awful finality sinking into his heart. That was it. He was dead. There would be no more.

"Physician," He called to the man as he was about to leave, "what of his body?"

"It was buried in unholy ground, My Lord," he replied, "As is the custom for treasoners and thieves. He has been laid out near the eastern border in an unmarked grave."

Arthur was silent and Aaron left, the awful feeling in his stomach increasing tenfold. Merlin had not even been honored a proper funeral. Gwen entered the room while he processed the thought. His eyes snapped to hers.

"How could they?" He asked, his voice growing strong from horror and despair. "He was a hero, not a traitor!" Arthur swung out of bed and staggered, knocking the basin of blood onto the floor. Gwen rushed to help him and he leaned heavily on her. "Get a servant to ready my horse. I am going to the eastern border."

"Not now, my King," Gwen shook her head. "You must wait until you are stronger."

"No," Arthur replied. "I need to go there and then to Ealdor. Someone must tell his mother."

**AN: Merlin, dead? How can it be? Read and review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN1: So I kinda went nuts at school when I lost my notebook and the result was 10 pages of story. I split it in two though, so enjoy and tell me what you think. (Thank you all for adding Viva la Vida to your favorite/story alert subscriptions, they are great!) And thank you for the reviews you guys posted. I agree, we should keep Merlin good, and I used some of the ideas to form this new chapter)**

Arthur rode to the border two days after declaring his intentions. Percival and Leon had offered to go with him, but he refused them and his young squire who had been given as a gift by Lady Vivienne for the loss of Merlin.

When he left he took a thick pack full of supplies; food, water, spare clothing, and most of all, a few object Merlin had gained in life to give to his mother and lay on his grave. He would exhume the body; he would not let it rest in unholy soil with the animals and worms to attack it. He would give his friend a proper funeral in a proper oak casket in the Church priory, and there he would build a monument so grand Merlin would have blushed to see it. His plans were grand, and so was the depth of his despair.

He said good-morrow to Gwen at the courtyard steps, and she had kissed him tenderly, her lips full of longing and regret, and when he rode out he looked back to see that she stood there, her eyes bright with tears, lips pursed.

The Eastern border was not far, and within a day and a half of hard riding he arrived at the spot where a shallow grave had been dug. The fresh turned earth was black and rich, and already small sprigs of grass dared begin to grow. Arthur slung down his pack and tied his horse, unwilling yet to fully 'see' the burial mound.

He had been running numb and detached since the news arrived, but when he laid down Merlin's worn familiar old neckerchief he found in the servant's quarters his composure broke. He kneeled down on the soft earth and cried; a broken, desperate sound. It seemed like he stayed there for hours until his eyes grew heavy and tears stopped flowing. He was still injured, and he lay beside the mound, refusing to move for fear that he would wake up and the nightmare would begin anew.

He fell asleep like that and the golden eyes returned like they always did. He awoke to the feeling of being watched and to his disbelief saw Merlin, just as he had last seen him, standing between two tall beech trees, staring at him with his pale blue eyes fixed on the young king. Arthur struggled to his feet and Merlin spoke, though he sounded wrong—not like bumbling Merlin, but of a wise old man.

"Do not forget," he said, "I shall always be there even if you cannot see me. Just think and I will be there. There are some in this land who still see you as just." When his cryptic message was delivered Merlin began to walk away, and Arthur followed him, shouting.

"Come back! Merlin, please! I thought you were dead!"

Merlin kept walking and moved behind a tree. Arthur scrambled to reach him but when he reached the spot he saw only a spring buck, his rack small but sharp and magnificent. The creature regarded him with curiosity and when Arthur approached it, it did not move. It just stared at him and tossed its head.

Arthur approached slowly, transfixed by the animal. It pawed the ground nervously and made its rack obvious by putting down its head.

"Shh," Arthur cooed, "it's alright, please… I won't hurt you." The buck regarded him with his large dark eyes and danced on its hooves nervously. When he reached the animal and offered his hand for smelling, the buck leaned its head forward and took a tentative sniff. It lifted its head suddenly when Arthur advanced and bounded back several feet into the trees.

Not deterred, Arthur pulled from his pocket a cone of sugar that he kept for his war horse and offered it to the startled buck. Slowly it began to move forward and took the treat. It was so busy enjoying it that it did not notice Arthur put his hand on the creatures flank, using the calming strokes horses loved so much. When it noticed his action, his head shot up but he did not run.

"You will be safe, I won't hurt you," Arthur said, backing away now to go back to his makeshift, eerie camp. He left the buck staring after him quizzically, but stopped dead when he reached the grave. Where it had only been black earth now bloomed small golden flowers. He picked one and folded it carefully into his pocket, then went to saddle his horse. When he was finished he looked up to see the buck had come back and now stared at him from a little distance. It advanced to the grave and nibbled on the flowers. "Hey!" Arthur called. The buck gave him a look he could only image to be amusement and it stopped.

Arthur mounted his horse and left the clearing. A while down the trail he heard the crack of branches. He reined in his horse and looked behind him. The buck had followed and regarded him tentatively.

"We have made a friend, it seems," Arthur said to his horse, and they moved on. Arthur was sure the animal was just after the sugar, but when he stopped to make camp in a forest a few days west of Ealdor he was surprised to see that when he laid down, so did the animal. It curled up next to the horse and closed its eyes. The horse had been taking it well, though when the deer came so close his eyes flashed nervously.

Arthur began to shiver in the night, and the nightmare of the eyes came back, but he awoke when he felt heat radiating on his side. He looked over to see the buck had moved and lay close, keeping him warm. After that the dreams fell silent and Arthur enjoyed the best sleep he had had since before the Siege of Camelot.

When he awoke the buck was gone, but at midday when he reached the Ealdor Valley, close to the border of Cenred's kingdom the animal reappeared and followed him down past the river that wound into the heart of Albion like a stream of lifeblood.

At the village the deer stood back and melted into the mottled green and brown of the forest, leaving Arthur to walk through the high street, bustling and alive with people. When the saw him ride in atop his impressive charger they stopped and bowed. _There are some in this land who still see you as just._

Hunith, like the rest, came to her doorway and bowed. Their eyes met and she glanced around curiously, looking for her son. When she did not see him a small crease formed between her eyes, and she approached the king as her old friend.

Arthur slid off the horse and took his reins with shaking fingers. Hunith called a village boy to take the horse, and ushered Arthur into her small, wood and stone home, the mortar badly in need of repair but herb garden overflowing and fragrant with spicy-sweet smells.

Hunith closed the door and stared at him with that deep gravity her son used when he knew something was gravely amiss. Without words she brewed spiced tea and sat down at her warped wooden table.

"Hunith," Arthur began. Her eyes flashed and her skin went white.

"News?" she asked. Arthur opened his pack and placed Merlin's medicine bag, once Gaius's, on the table. She stared at in and burst into tears. The kettle bubbled and Arthur got it while her body still shook with sobs. "No," she whispered, "not him too. …First Gaius, now him? He can't be dead, I would know if he were dead!" Arthur handed her a steaming mug and she stared at it as if her only wish was to drown herself in it. "What happened?" she asked in a near-whisper, staring up at Arthur with pleading eyes.

"He saved the Queen and I," Arthur replied, guilt washing over him as he spoke, "and battled back Morgana. He tried to run… the guards, they thought he had something to do with it and they threw him in the cells." He did not mention the fact that the guards beat him within an inch of his life, and she did not ask.

"My boy…" she replied, biting her lip, "he was brave?"

"The bravest," Arthur nodded.

"Where did you lay him?"

"The eastern border," Arthur replied, "But against my wishes. He will be moved to the Priory at Kingshall soon." Kingshall was Vivienne's palace name for its history of being the first established stronghold of Albion.

Hunith shook her head. "They could not have put him in such a place; it would be a sin against God, yours and mine."

"I understand," Arthur said, "I had those who committed this crime executed." He had, indeed scoured the palace, and with Lady Vivienne's reluctant support, had his knights take the men into the woods and slaughter every last one of them. Gwen cried when he told her, but it was not a time for mercy.

"He never wanted that," Hunith had begun to shake and Arthur covered her in his crimson cloak. "He wanted peace, not death."

"I really am sorry," Arthur said eyes downcast.

"Sorry is a hollow atonement for what has happened," she said, "You know he was my only surviving son? His brother Rhys, died as a small child before his father, Brom Woodbourne, died in Camelot when Uther decreed death to the druids."

"He was a druid?" Arthur asked, surprised.

"Aye," Hunith nodded, "there is no use saying otherwise now. When I met Merlin's father Brom had just died, and I vowed never to speak of him or Rhys again."

"Again," I am sorry," Arthur said, filled with the sorrows of a kingdom and the crimes his father had always justified as right, a sort of retribution for Ygraine's death.

"Please, Dear King, let his death not be a waste. Take back Camelot and kill that flea ridden cow that took my son. I would gladly stand up, as would most in the villages and help you. As it is, the Lady of the North, whose husband you killed would be on your side." Arthur had forgotten Queen Annis and realized that Hunith was probably right. He could ask her and beg provisions. "The men-at-arms for this shire would gladly help you. They were never sympathetic for Cenred, and how with his death they are even less inclined to his bastard son, Iago of the Western Isles. He is slow and easily used. Perhaps you could journey there and ask for support from his advisors."

"Yes, perhaps," Arthur replied, thinking. "Is Iago not ten?"

"Aye, a child king—a puppet to his advisors. That is why the Lord of this Valley is not dedicated to him. He would swear fealty to you. As a girl I served in the Hall, and he was a reasonable man. I would have thought he would ride to see you, actually," she said.

"I have made my journey in secret, "Arthur said. "Is Lord Cadoc at his lodge or the Hall?"

"The Hall, I believe," Hunith replied, "He sent a man for taxes two days past."

Arthur nodded, and gave one look at his cold tea. "I will leave you now," He said, staring at the medicine pack, "you have given me much to think about." He moved to the door, forgetting his cloak, and Hunith rose to give it to him.

"Have you seen a stag?" she asked when he took the reins from a scrawny boy.

"A stag?" Arthur said, "Yes. It was at the grave."Hunith smiled.

"What is it?" He asked.

"A stag was of his father's House, beside the dragon," she said. When a Druid dies, their house creature becomes the guardian of their grave. Have you never wondered at the animals in the forest?" Arthur was mystified and did not mention the deer following him to the village.

"Take care," she said when Arthur mounted his horse and secured the stirrups. "Castle Ward is a pit of vipers. You will want to gain Iago's support before going to Cadoc. He fears the advisors as do we all." Arthur nodded and took that comment with concern. What he would find he was not sure, but he had never been to Cenred's castle before, putting him at distinct disadvantage.

As he rode away children offered his horse sweets, and he barely noticed when a few people offered him encouragements and called praise. He knew Castle Ward to be some distance away; a day of hard riding, and it was nearing dusk, but he pushed his horse on with sleepless eyes.

**AN2: Thoughts? Reviews make my day! (Just so you know… xD)**


	5. Chapter 5

When he reached the imposing, high buttressed castle the inky blackness of night had come and a golden sliver of morning began to shine over the mountains, sentry to the wind and rain. The castle was like Camelot, with a lower town, bustling with people, and an upper town which comprised of the courtyard and moneylenders homes.

Struck with a sudden inspiration, Arthur dismounted his horse and tied him to a railing, taking to a large toy shop hung with wooden dragons and fantastic wheeled things that rolled and smoked when the children would put a small measure of hot water in the top tank. Arthur knew that children liked toys, and when foreigners came to visit Camelot he was often disappointed at the lack of care they gave their little prince.

Arthur picked out a red dragon, complete with tin armor and little tin claws, and bought it for the boy. He was not recognized, and for that he was grateful. He looked like a knight of Camelot, but he did not wear his gold band to signify royalty. Some men spat at him when he passed to the upper town, and a tavern wench or two bared their breasts, cackling and calling, "Hail, rich knight, come warm my bed and fill my pockets!"

Arthur explained who he was to upper town guards, and they let him into the courtyard. A stable boy took his horse and he was led by a solemn looking old knight to the throne room. One knock, two, and a black cloaked advisor with sharp, unpleasant features and muddy brown eyes let him in, appraising the king with obvious distaste.

The room itself was large and high vaulted with a massive iron throne at the end. Atop it, looking very out of place sat King Iago, a purple blanket thrown over the chair's arms, knees crossed and playing with small figurines of knights on horses. He looked up and Arthur saw the resemblance to his father. He had a shock of wavy black-brown locks that nearly fell to his shoulders and bright brown eyes.

"Who is it?" He asked in an imperious little voice.

"King Arthur, _formerly _of Camelot, My Lord," the unpleasant man said in a mocking voice.

"I'm Iago," the child said, standing up, toy knights still in hand. "My papa was the old king. He didn't like you."

"That's because I never brought him one of these," Arthur produced the dragon, and the boy's eyes shone. He walked over to take his present, and the unpleasant advisor gave Arthur a venomous glance.

"What do you want?" the boy asked, fiddling with the shiny brass breastplate of his toy.

"My Lord King," the unpleasant man said, feigning horror, "we must be civil to our neighbors."

"_Maxen,"_ the boy whined, "I want to ask the questions this time. You _said_ I could!" The man, Maxen, shook his head despairingly and balled his fists in his pockets.

"Little King," Arthur said, glad to be talking to the boy again, "I need your help with a big job." The boy looked excited. "I will give you all the dragons you want if you help me. One on each of your name days."

"What does this have to do with us?" Maxen spat sourly. Iago shot a glance at the older man, and then turned back to Arthur, sheepish expression on his face.

"Yes, what _does_ it have to do with us?" he asked.

"I need an army to take back Camelot, and I want peace between the kingdoms."

"How many men?" Maxen said, again speaking for his little king.

"A thousand," Arthur replied. "I have nine hundred in my garrison but if Camelot is to be taken, it must be done so without compromise. A siege must be used."

"We have only five hundred, and they are the King's Own Guard," Maxen said. Arthur knew he was lying, but smiled.

"A hundred is far from what we need, but it is still a useful number."

"Even giving ten over would be bad for us," Maxen insisted.

"I will make it worth your while," Arthur replied, "If you help me, you will have all the timber you need from our forests and oar from our mines." Maxen considered for a second.

"I could only give you one hundred," He said doggedly, "would you still be satisfied?"

"Indeed," Arthur nodded. "Have your scribe draw up an agreement, though for only a hundred you would have to choose which you preferred, oar or wood." Maxen nodded curtly and Arthur looked down at the boy, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "You will be a rich little king soon," Arthur said.

"I don't want gold, I want to play with my dragons and knights," the youngster responded. Arthur caught the look Maxen shot at the boy when he said this—it was dark and full of mocking malice. It made Arthur fear for the child.

"You will get new dragons every year, made by Camelot's finest carpenters and toy makers. Does that please you My Lord?" Iago sniffed and nodded.

"Can I go play now?" he asked.

"Go ahead," Arthur laughed, tousling the boy's hair. Iago darted away and gathered his things at the throne.

"You should not indulge a child," Maxen said, coming back with a young serving boy. "I have brought Jack, here, to show you to your rooms. You will, of course, be staying here until the agreement has been drawn up." Arthur nodded politely and was led away to large room with thick black curtains obscuring the windows, and red and black sheets covering the bed and canopy. A fancy wrought iron chandelier flickered with a dozen candles.

When the boy left, Arthur took off his shoes and sat on the thick goose feather mattress, not realizing how truly tired he was. He fell into bed and was asleep until Jack knocked on the door to tell him about dinner. He was asked to dine with the chancellors, and he went reluctantly, a heavy foreboding hanging in the air.

When he arrived at the Great Hall he saw Maxen sitting close, drinking ale with the others, his greasy hair and sharp nose making him look like a raven. The other advisors were no better. One was pale as death with translucent, pockmarked skin and fair, almost white hair and the other a fat, drunk looking man, his stomach pressed against the table, chicken leg in one hand and glass of summer wine in the other. The King was sitting in a chair a foot or so taller than the others so he was level with his advisors and men-at-arms.

When they noticed him, the boy king grinned like a child and Maxen gave Arthur a sickly smile.

"Ah, my friends," he gestured to the group around him, "We have a highly esteemed guest with us tonight. He is none other than Arthur Pendragon, the sister of the Usurper Morgana le Fay." Arthur was insulted by the introduction, but did not let it show.

The fat man stood and waddled over to Arthur, wiping his hands on his tunic. He offered his hand and Arthur took it, the sleeve of his robe damaged by a bear sized greasy handprint.

"I'm Master Aled, keeper of accounts here at Castle Ward," he said, slurring his words and hiccupping. _No wonder the castle is in such disrepair_, Arthur thought.

"Pleasure," Arthur said, not feeling pleasure at all.

He was led to the table and saw that dogs wended their way between peoples feet and a few fat pups rolled about, vying for their mother's rich milk. A dog came to his feet the moment he sat down, and the men were already too drunk to notice that when they passed him a mug of frothing ale, he put it under the table for the dog to lap up.

A servant came with more, and he noticed that the boy's eyes shifted nervously, and at the last moment dropped the goblet with a clatter to the floor. Maxen looked up over the din and gave the boy a hard look.

"Clean that up," he ordered, "and bring the King more." The servant nodded, and Arthur protested when he saw the servant shake his head subtly.

"No ale, if you please," Arthur said suspiciously, "Get me a bottle of winter wine from your stores. I wish to open it myself and share in a toast." Maxen looked murderous.

The boy shuffled off, and Arthur began a conversation with one of the men-at-arms. After the Immortal Army had been thwarted, the castle had lost almost all of their men, and the king's advisors were so desperate for swords they were considering capturing people from the outlying villages and forcing them into service.

The boy came back with a knife and bottle of deep red wine. He smiled foolishly at Arthur, and watched as Arthur uncorked it and poured it out into the ale flasks. Each man took a cup, and when it was empty the boy's eyes flashed gold and the bottle disappeared. Arthur looked at him with open horror.

Maxen saw him and said, "Here magic is not outlawed. We will not change our customs because of some silly rules in Camelot." Arthur stared at the boy. It had only been a flash, but he wondered why that color looked familiar. The boy gave him an odd, amused look, and walked away to serve the other lords, lighting a few candles while he clicked his fingers.

Arthur could not take his eyes off the boy for the rest of the night. He was short, but skinny, with dark hair and eyes. Every time he would use magic Arthur would tense up, but instead of fear, he found he was fascinated at the ease and grace of the movements. It did not look evil; certainly levitating plates and goblets was not malicious. He remembered his father's death and how the sorcerer Dragoon had promised he would live, and he looked away, ashamed of thinking that magic was something other than wrong and dangerous.

He drank the wine until he was lightheaded, and when he bade the men good-night he almost tripped over the dog at his feet. It had not moved since draining the goblet and now lay, not breathing, eyes open and staring. It was dead.

He locked his door that night and slept with a dagger under his pillow. It was indeed a pit of vipers, Arthur thought, and when he awoke the next morning he packed and was ready to depart. He took breakfast with Iago, who had requested his company, and they drank crab apple juice and ate honeyed bacon. Maxen came to them when they were speaking of how dragons flew, and the mechanics of the fine, birdlike bones. He had a pact ready for signing, and Arthur saw that they had chosen the oar over wood. He read it carefully, and, satisfied that there were no loopholes or dangerous twists of words, he signed it. The little king did so after in his slanted, disjointed hand, and it was sealed by Maxen himself, the crest of Cenred's house set in black sealing wax.

His horse was waiting for him at the gates, as well one hundred knights and men-at-arms, dressed in rusted mail and riding shaggy little northern ponies. Their commander-at-arms was a man named Glynn Hacker, and Arthur did not ask the origins of his last name.

They rode to Lord Cadoc's Hall, and there they garnered his support and received twenty more men. It took another two days to reach Kingshall, but the men did not grumble and Hacker kept them in high spirits.

Arthur saw a decided difference between Cadoc's men and the Kings. Cadoc's looked healthy and well-clothed, but the King's looked gaunt, and their mail was sorely lacking. Even their longswords appeared to need a whetstone or a dozen.

Gwen ran down the courtyard steps when she heard him coming, and pulled him off his horse, kissing every available patch of face. When he finished ordering the horses away, he almost sagged against his wife. He had not realized how much effort it was to keep up with injuries, and his ear was bothering him again. His hand was still stiff and aching from the broken fingers, and clutching the reins had done him no good but he would not delay his reunion with his wife for such trivial things as those.

While he was away, he thought about her often, and coming back to her made him wish to give her a gift, something to repay her for loving him so. He wanted to give her a child.

**AN2: Lemon #1? I love reviews so if you would be so kind, tell me what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: so I noticed since I axed Merlin people have been displeased. But, humble reader, all is not lost. For you see, who was the buck and the serving boy? Hmm? It's MAGIX! R&R**

When the grave diggers came for Merlin they found nothing but a mound of freshly turned earth. Nothing. _Nothing?_

Arthur cradled his face in his hands. How was it possible, and if he was not there, where was he? _Where was Merlin?_

"Come to bed, my lord," Gwen said, watching him from their bed. _The bed of a beggar king_, Arthur thought, mind clouded and stomach sick.

"If Vivienne had something to do with this…" He started the threat but never finished.

"I'm sure she did not," Gwen replied, "Why would she? He was only a servant in her eyes. Come to bed, and sleep. They will find him wherever they put him."

"Yes," Arthur replied standing and staring out into the courtyard, "_wherever they put him._ Why did they kill him, Gwen?"

"Because they thought he had killed you," his wife replied.

"Or did they kill him?" Arthur said, "Is he really dead? His grave is empty."

"They took him out," Gwen said quietly, "guards can attest to that. I know you miss him as much as I do, but please, do not get your hopes up on an empty grave."

"His mother though," Arthur plowed on, "she said that when a person of her kind died there would be a buck at the grave, another animal to join in the forest."

"You saw a buck?" Gwen said, shaking her head sadly, "Arthur, it was a _forest._ Deer roam as they please."

"You don't understand," Arthur said, his voice almost hysterical, "it followed me. I saw Merlin and then he went into the woods and a buck came out. Then it followed me to the village!"

"Arthur," Gwen said, "Please. You're scaring me. I want to believe he's alive as much as you do, but he's not." Arthur spun around and gave his queen a hard look.

"Gwen, I would know if he was dead. I've almost lost him more than once."

"Just you?" Gwen's tone had become petulant. "Just you, my lord?" she always called him "my lord" when she was angry. "If there is something I should know—if—if you two had—_something_, then tell me, because he was my best friend, and now that he's gone I'm losing my husband too."

Arthur knew what she was implying, and he balked at the thought.

"_No,_ Gwen. You wouldn't understand. Growing up I was an only child, and no one was ever my friend out of desire for my companionship. Even as I grew older I was alone. No one dared win a game against me and everyone would avoid me unless I commanded them to come near. They were afraid of me…but when Merlin came and my father gave him the position of manservant, well, he was the first one ever to stand up to me, and became like a brother. You have Elian, Gwen, and I had Merlin." Gwen was silent for a moment, then she took his travelling cloak off the its peg and handed it to him.

"If my brother was in danger I would go and find him," she said simply.

"You won't come?" Arthur asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"No," Gwen sighed, "I must remain at court to keep Lady Vivienne company, and besides, they know nothing of how a horse will jar an unborn child." She said it so matter-of-factly that Arthur was dumbstruck for a moment.

"But you aren't…" he began, but then cut off and rushed to her, gathering her in his arms.

"I am," she whispered against his ear as he held her, "and so you must find Merlin now, if he lives he is to be the prince's godfather."

**AN: a short chapter, but I wanted to see how many people were still holding on after the Merlin business. Anyways, all in favor or continuing review or give some other sign of your existence… ; )**


	7. Chapter 7

On the second night in the forest, alone but for his horse, Arthur realized his folly. He had known it all along, somewhere, he supposed, but to get away from the prying eyes of Vivienne's court was a release he could scarce describe. Gwen was one exception, but he tried not to think of her or the baby; to do so would make him turn around, something he simply could not yet do.

Yelling for Merlin was not the answer either, and he had come to a screeching halt. Perhaps Merlin really had died… for all Arthur knew it was true. If it was, then his best friend was dead, and to think like that caused a deep burn in his chest and his breathing became labored, just as it had when Gwen first told him. Why had he not felt this for Agravaine or Morgana? Only his father had ripped such grief from him, and it had been final, not like this.

Until he saw the body himself, he refused to believe, just as he had done when Gwen told him the first time. He could not believe. He would not. Once lost, twice lost, but not again. He half expected the buck to be following him, but it never came, and when he met up with a few Camelot nobility roasting hare in their forest tent, he sat with them and prayed to their gods. They had not seen Merlin, only Morgana's soldiers who had ridden into their camp and taken jewels and women. As of yet Lady Wendlynn was missing, and so was her maid. "Where did the men go?" Arthur asked, half hopeful.

"East," young Lord Ambert replied, "you will yet see their tracks, the ground is soft and the snow has not set in." Arthur thanked them and set off in the direction Ambert had said. Thickly dug, slurred hoof prints lay buried in the mud by the riverbank.

He caught up with them at a tavern near some nameless village. When he saw horses with Morgana's colors, he dismounted and killed the first man and pushed his sword through the bellies of the other. _Fuck honor_, he thought, twisting his bloody sword from the knight's gut. The knight doubled over and the serving wench screeched for him to leave. He threw a few coppers on the floor for the trouble and left. He was about to mount when he noticed a straggler, clad in black and returning from the privy. Arthur snuck up behind him and pressed his blade to his neck. No one was around, and Arthur's broken fingers curled painfully around the hilt.

"You will listen," he hissed, "and listen well. Where is Merlin, King Arthur's servant?" The man's eyes were bright with fear, the pupils dilated to pin pricks. He shook his head, and Arthur pressed the blade deeper into his soft flesh.

"P— please,"the knight rasped, "I don't know a Merlin, promise. God, just let me go." Arthur held fast.

"I don't believe you," Arthur replied. "Have you seen him? A skinny man with a blue tunic and dark hair. He would have been travelling alone, without an escort."

The knight struggled against him and said, "Why, is he important or something?" Arthur drew a line of blood across the knight's neck. "_Fuck, mate!"_ he said, dropping his hands to his side, "All I saw was an old man in the dungeons. He wanted to see his son, some Old Camelot prat. Please, that's all I saw. Those prisoners never get anyone coming for them and My Lady was feeling generous. Suppose its cause they're going to die soon. Now let me go!" Arthur took the blade away and the knight gasped for air, feeling alone the bloody line where Arthur had cut him. He did not even draw his sword. _You might have been_ my _knight_, he thought bitterly.

Arthur left the knight, and secured his agrafe. It was coming loose, and he did not want to lose his cloak. He rode on, and thought of a song Gwen had taught him from the village. Even with the blood of others on his hands, he felt numb. The old Arthur would have broken down, become the better man. Now he was no better than Uther. King of the Britons indeed. He began to sing to break the silence.

_Cask and carnet, _

_Water and blood, _

_Flow from here to Albion _

_Across the fords and into the valley, where brave knights drink and young maids tarry _

_Into the ponce and into the pean, no king nor lord should ever be free _

No king nor lord should ever be free, Arthur thought. What a cruel fate to befall him. He wondered about Morgana, and he gasped when his broken fingers tightened on the reins. After he found Merlin he would kill her. He would not stop until her blood stained the halls of Camelot and she screamed for mercy. _I couldn't though_, he thought, slumping a bit deeper in his saddle. I _am not my father, and even if I was I could not make her suffer. She was my sister for all those years… No, a quick death to a sharp blade would be more merciful_. She did not deserve it, but once she had been noble. He could not forget and neither would Camelot let him forget it.

So deep in his musings, he did not notice a shape move in the shadows. Only when he heard the sharp snapping of a tree limb did he look around. A man staggered from the bushes, his thick, long hair and beard matted and dark with dried blood.

"G—Gwaine?"

**AN: And so it is another cliffy! How did Gwaine escape? And thank you for evidence of your existences, I like this story but I like to know (or, rather, to think) that I'm not just writing randomly… XD As always, R&R**


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin gasped for air, leaning against a fat old oak, hands on his knees. He had been running, and his poorly healed ribs ached. Even with magic the process was slow, and he had not known the spell as well as he figured he should have.

A tree limb cracked close by, and he muttered a rushed spell. At once he was a spring buck, and he bounded through the trees more silent and gracefully than he ever could have as a human. His flight caused an upset to a small gaggle of swans by the river's edge, but he paid no heed. He knew he was being tracked, and the only way he could keep his cover was by becoming the buck he had slain with the Druids. Their magic had allowed him to become the animal completely, and it was their healers who had kept him from dying, another debt still unpaid.

In this form his ribs hurt less and his breath did not come out in short, loud puffs. If he did not have a duty to his king and Camelot he reasoned that he would love to stay an animal until he died and was forced into his own skin again, becoming once more that gawky, awkward youth, turned man in his years at Camelot. As a person he looked frightening, with matted black hair and gaunt cheeks, a thick rug of black beard over his chin, but as an animal all that fell off and his hide was glossy with sweat, clean, with a small rack, just beginning to regrow its fuzz after shedding. His hooves were small, sharp and black, and he bounded through the forest like a ghost. _Perhaps I am?_ He thought. _Perhaps this is all I will be now, a shadow in the woods, following Arthur? _

He had rescued Gwaine and Gaius as a man, which was something a ghost could not have. Elian had been rescued earlier by a band of rebels when Morgana had sent him as ransom for a noble lord who was rallying his troops in the forest of Assetire, and Gaius was with the Druids who had taken him when Merlin led him and Gwaine from the castle in the disguise first of a balding, old man and then again as a massive, Percival-sized guard who demanded no resistance from the other soldiers. They were allowed to pass, but when they reached the final portcullis out of the city the bells began to toll frantically. No one noticed them slip out, however, as they left from the dilapidated east gate, and they slipped into the night.

Gaius had been near delirium when the Druid had taken him, and Merlin led Gwaine, in a state of shock and dehydration, into the path that he knew Arthur would ride. Gwaine asked him who he was, but he merely smiled and said, "Your best friend, at the moment." Gwaine had looked like he was going to reply, but then Merlin handed him a powerful herb draft and Gwaine's head dropped to his shoulder and his face went slack, almost childlike in sleep.

Merlin waited, and Arthur came riding close by the close of the second day. Gwaine had recovered mostly by then, and he stumbled towards Arthur's horse, making an awful racket, shuffling deadfall and twigs as he moved.

Arthur's face had been drawn before, his mouth pressed tight and his eyes like hard blue marbles, blood glistening on his scabbard, but when he saw Gwaine a look of shock and relief sprang up unbidden on his face. Where did the blood come from? Surely from an animal…

"G-Gwaine?" Arthur sputtered, "It cannot be. But where's Elian and Gaius? Did they escape as well?"

"Yes," Gwaine said shortly, eyelids drooping, "Some… some warlock saved us, I think. El- Elian's with the rebels and Gaius the D—Druids." Merlin reflected that the draught had been a little too strong, but now that Arthur had found him he would not let him go. Nothing else mattered.

Reluctant to turn away, he watched the scene, biting his bottom lip and forcing himself not to hate himself. If he had told Arthur who he was… if he had let Morgana die that day in the tower… none of this would have happened.

The sky had turned from a dark blue to an ominous, inky black; the stars smothered by thick cloud cover, obscuring the moon and leaving the forest in a state of frightened, still expectancy. Being the buck again was no longer practical, and Merlin found that the safest way to remain hidden and protected was to cast a muffling charm and was to climb a tree and make a sort of nest in the thickly wooded canopy.

Arthur and Gwaine were close by, lying covered in Arthur's traveling cloak and old, worn hunting leathers, snoring lightly, a smoldering fire keeping them warm. The horse was tied near Arthur's feet, near his sword, which he kept within reach, and the horse snorted.

He can smell me, Merlin thought, watching as the horse sniffed around and scanned the woods. No one would blame him for staying, like some strange and unsightly bird, perched over them, he thought. He had done his duty by returning Gwaine, and he had to move back to Arthur's side, his original charge.

What this charge was doing in the forest, Merlin could not guess, but he had seen the bloody sword and wondered if he had found Morgana's mercenaries he had seen earlier terrorizing a small forest camp of nobles who had yet to return from the forest to their lands.

Since he could not have gone back to Kingshall, he had had to tail Arthur in animal form, sometimes reverting to a disguised human form to protect his king. At Cenred's old castle he was ashamed that he had served Arthur poisoned ale, but glad of Arthur's suspicion and that little stunt with the dog. In Cenred's kingdom it was a relief to finally be able to use his magic freely. When the rules changed he did not know, but suspected it had something to do with Morgause and her conquest of the king. She had been beautiful, he remembered, but insolent. She had not even consented to see Cenred's son, the sweet, gullible Iago and in her ignorance had overlooked his power, weak as it was, but stronger than most as such an age.

She had done nothing for the boy, he found out, and she used his advisor to commit regicide. She then had the little prince brushed into a corner and died at the Isle of the Blessed with Morgana. Merlin himself was deeply worried for the child, fearing his advisors and courtiers would overstep their bounds and use him to further fracture the delicate political structure of Albion. They were treading dangerous land, and when someone finally did slip, the whole island would be thrown into bloody civil war.

"Thank you Arthur," Gwaine whispered, bringing Merlin back to the present. "I thought I would die, Elian too."

"Who saved you?" Arthur asked, assuming that Gwaine knew he had no part in the escape.

"You didn't?" Gwaine sounded genuinely hurt.

"I tried," Arthur replied miserably, "My men were all killed. Morgana lifted their heads on spikes above the city gates as a warning." Gwaine was silent for a moment.

"So, where's Merlin then?" Gwaine asked, "I didn't see him." Merlin looked saw Arthur's face contort in the firelight and the king gulped hard.

"He…" Arthur trailed off. "Gwaine, he…" Gwaine, whose back was to Merlin, did not reply and he could not see his face, but suddenly he was sitting up, his dark hair messy about his face.

"Who then?" His voice was strong and his face seemed older.

"What?" Arthur replied dumbly,

"Who killed him? What happened?"

"Gwaine he—,"

"No," Gwaine replied, standing shakily to his feet, running hands through his already mussed hair. "No, you were supposed to… he's not… no. _You were supposed to protect him!_" the last part was an angry cry. "_He was only a boy; you were supposed to protect him_!"

"I tried," Arthur was on his feet now as well, "I tried, Gwaine. Vivienne's guards attacked him after Morgana broke into my chambers. They thought he had broken the beams and started the fire. He saved us."

"He saved you _again_?" Gwaine was furious, and Merlin found himself genuinely frightened for Arthur. "_And you couldn't protect him against a couple of fucking _guards_?_"

"He might not be dead," Arthur said in a whisper, stubborn tears leaving tracks down his cheeks. Gwaine wheeled around and reached to his sword belt. Finding it empty, he flexed his fingers and punched Arthur square in the jaw, yelling.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" He shouted, "_Might not be dead?_ What does that mean? You have killed thousands in this pointless war and now you have killed your best friend, _my best friend?"_The horse started when Gwaine approached and he kicked a broken log. Merlin could see that he was shaking violently and that he was very weak, but he would not sit down and Merlin saw blood seeping from under one of his bandaged cuts down his shoulder.

"Please," Arthur tried again, recovering from the blow with a blossoming red bruise under his left eye. "Now that there are two of us we can find him easier, right? Here, come back, I found some fire wine before I left the castle. Its old and it works." Gwaine turned reluctantly around and Arthur took a large glass bottle from his bag. The substance was clear, and Merlin wondered if it was just a trick to get Gwaine close.

Arthur took a long swig and coughed, then handed it to Gwaine. "To piss water, oh and Morgana's head on a fucking spike," he said. Gwaine raised the bottle and sputtered when he took too deep a draught. The two men drank until the bottle was empty, and fell asleep sometime in the early morning hours, the clouds burned away by the burgeoning sunrise.

From fighting to drinking to sleeping, Merlin watched them and felt a growing lump forming in his chest. Arthur mumbled in his sleep, and said, in a drunken whisper, 'gold, come back.' Merlin heard this and turned away sadly. Something had stopped him from killing Morgana; perhaps it was that he sympathized with her and her struggle, or maybe he still loved her somewhere, a first love before Freya, but love or not, he had to end it. The pain of watching his friends suffer was unbearable and it was all his. He had to go to Morgana. Not as Emrys, but as himself. He had to finish it and restore Arthur to the throne, finally setting her twisted, poisoned heart in the peaceful earth, forever enduring.

_I promise you, Morgana, I will give your body the respect you have never shown. I will kiss your lips and you will go away, back to the shadow lands, to Freya and your father and mother. You will sleep in peace, I promise. _

**AN: A chapter in Merlin POV. I know I made it kinda OOC, but grief makes people act strangely, and you would be surprised some of the attitude changes that happen in that period. Anyways, that's my shpiel. Cheers for now!**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hi so I was asked to do an update, so here you go! (anyone still interested PM or review)**

Merlin left Arthur and Gwaine in the morning, carefully and silently slipping through the forest on little hooves. He knew where to find Morgana of course, but something, perhaps weariness prevented him from charging into the castle and simply killing her.

He could have dresses as a guard as he did before, or even shrunk down into a cat and slunk in, but somehow that did not seem... clever enough or as true to form. No, if the world was going to end he, Merlin, was going to do it. The task, uncomfortably, felt strange, and he forced himself not to analyze those feelings as he stood by the East Gate, watching the sentinels as they stood, like hooded crows, on the ramparts. He could slip in easily in the dead of night, and slink into the throne room, or find her in her old room in the tower.

So he waited. Night came slowly in the forest outskirts, and he saw the sun sink below the great grey castle with something akin to sorrow. Now he would have to do what he came for. He would have to kill her. With a sigh he stood from his pack and threw his cloak over his shoulders.

He was not bothered, and, as he had half-expected, saw a candle burning in Morgana's chambers, high above on the third floor. Quietly as a mouse, he crept around corridors and guards. He was almost upon Morgana's door, however, when he was spotted.

The guard only had but a moment to look surprised. He was dead the next. There could be no chances. Not anymore.

Dressed as himself, he entered the dimly lit room and found her by the window, staring out onto the courtyard with her pale skin and black hair braided about her neck. She looked beautiful, and terrible, covered in crimson silk and thick gold bands.

Upon hearing someone enter, she looked around and smiled, speaking at last.

"Jane, come here. I need someone to help me unlace my bodice."

Assuming that the intruder was her servant, she turned back to the window without seeing Merlin. He took his chance, and walked slowly, lightly—towards her. When he was only a pace behind her, he wrapped one hand around her waist and the other on her mouth. She struggled, but her magic could no longer compete.

"Shh," Merlin murmured, "Shh Morgana."

"You!" She said, muffled by his hand.

"Yes," Merlin let her go suddenly, and she staggered, turning to face him was black hatred.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, forgetting her magic for the moment.

"You should know," Merlin replied in a measured voice. "Don't you know yet?"

Morgana looked terrified, and her bottom lip trembled.

"No, no!" she shook her head and screamed a curse. Merlin deflected it easily and smiled sadly.

"How you didn't know, I can't say," Merlin said easily, deflecting her curses as he came closer. Frightened, Morgana backed up, and, when they were almost nose-to-nose, Merlin slid a dagger, the only one forged in the dragon's breath, from his jacket.

"That cannot kill me," Morgana said breathlessly, "I am a high priestess, nothing can kill me. Not mortal steel, _Emrys_." She said his true name like an insult.

"Oh Morgana," Merlin gave her a pitying look. "Why did you have to become like this? Could you not see I loved you?"

Morgana did not reply. She only looked at him with a mixture of confusion and calculated consideration.

"Then kiss me if you love me," She tried desperately. "Come and kiss me." Merlin, aware of her move, came so close that their noses almost touched, took her lips in his, and plunged the dagger deep into her chest. She let out a breath against his lips and crumpled to the floor.

Unable to move, he watched the life fade from her eyes, and, with her last breath she said something that would haunt him forever.

"Thank you, Emrys. You saved me."


End file.
